


Ere The World Falls

by Dont_call_me_Carrie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, BAMF Hela (Marvel), Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Families of Choice, Frigga Lives (Marvel), Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki's Children In The Myths Are His Friends In The MCU, Not Thor: Ragnarok (2017) Compliant, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Tags May Change, Thanos Dies (Marvel), Timeline What Timeline, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26281315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_call_me_Carrie/pseuds/Dont_call_me_Carrie
Summary: Thor’s friends would grow up to become known throughout the realms as the Warriors Three and the Lady Sif. Would be remembered even centuries later for their feats and misadventures, as they shared the glory that came with being a shield-brother of the golden Prince of Asgard.Loki’s friends…were nowhere near as fortunate.[On forgotten children, and the making of monsters.]
Relationships: Fenrir & Hela & Jormungand & Loki (Marvel), Fenrir & Loki (Marvel), Hela & Loki (Marvel), Jörmungandr & Loki, Loki & Loki's Children (Marvel), One-sided Hela/Thanos
Comments: 126
Kudos: 340





	1. Fenrir

**Author's Note:**

> in which I vent all of the confusion that came with finally watching Ragnarok because for all adult-me wanted to just sit back and enjoy the anti-colonialist elements and breathtaking composition and lighting, it was almost entirely drowned out by kid-me's screaming "WTF WHY IS LOKI'S KID HIS SISTER?!"
> 
> aka, in which there were two wolves— and you can probably tell which one won out. So here, have my attempt at fusing what little I remember of Norse mythology with the MCU to hopefully create something that would've made a teensy bit more sense.
> 
> **General fic warnings:** see the above tags? Those are the general fic warnings/recurring themes in this fic. Anything more specific goes in the warnings I put before every single chapter. If you like Odin or Asgard, this is not the fic for you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one who started it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** The usual. Also, Odin's idea of parenting is in full force, and Asgard's imperialistic attitude is not subtle in the slightest.

Of the orphans on Asgard who had the privilege of playing with the royal heirs, Fenrir was the one everyone had expected to become fast friends with Thor. For good reason, too: he was as quick with his wits as with his sword and enjoyed a good fight just like any proper Asgardian did.

Except it wasn’t Thor he gravitated towards.

No, instead he was almost inseparable from the younger Prince of Asgard—which made for a jarring sight to those who didn’t know him, those who didn’t know that Loki had taught him the joys of shapeshifting and was the reason an enormous wolf with amber eyes and oversized paws was becoming a common sight in the nearby forest.

Always cheerful, always bright and outgoing and friendly, all lanky limbs and good-natured ribbing that belied a monstrous strength that rivaled that of full-grown men. When Loki tried to copy his brother and reached out in an attempt to make friends, he had been quick to reach back and play.

And when Loki tenatively tried to make more friends among their age group? He was the first to welcome them with a gentle clap on the back, and did his best to make them feel welcome. He’d quickly become the closest thing Hela had to a sibling, and more than once had made little Jörmungandr laugh and Loki smile after a tiring day. 

He had great potential, and a charisma that could nearly rival Thor’s that should have resulted in no small number of legendary escapades— had it not been for one glaring flaw: Fenrir was fiercely loyal to those he considered family.

When others scoffed at them for practicing magic, he didn’t hesitate to snarl back and usher Hela away from their sneers. When Volstagg frowned at Jörmungandr for reading his book instead of humoring him, Fenrir looked him dead in the eyes as he ‘accidentally’ tipped over a nearby rack of spears.

He almost never bowed his head to others, **_always_** pushed back and refused to feel shame for his skill in magic— and because of it, slowly became as ostracized as Loki, but without the protection that came with being a Prince of Asgard.

Fenrir always acted like he didn’t mind. Always said he didn’t care about the glory the way Thor and his friends seemed to, or the looks they got when he bound through the forest, Hela and Jörmungandr on his back and laughing as they raced a green-eyed raven. Even when the others stopped talking to them, it was okay because they had each other, and that was enough.

They should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

* * *

Fenrir had not known what to expect, following a summons from the Allfather himself.

Had he known, he would have worn more armor.

[ _Had he known, he would have said goodbye._ ]

But he was young, a scarce few decades younger than Loki, was naive enough to think he had nothing to fear, and so was caught completely off-guard when instead of heading to the main hall, he was escorted to the Bifrost Bridge by Tyr himself.

Upon arrival, his confusion was not helped by the discovery that the Bifrost Bridge was empty save for the Gatekeeper and the King of Asgard.

In retrospect, it was obvious something was amiss.

But instead, it took a wild-eyed Allfather taking him by the shoulder and talking about visions and _tragedies that must not happen_ and _necessary sacrifices_ for Fenrir to start to realize just what situation he was facing, as a no-name orphan who had come to the attention of his King just as a surge of dark energy swept over the room, taking him far from everything he ever knew.

“You must understand, these are extraordinary circumstances,” his King said as he and Tyr all-but-dragged him to an enormous shadowed cavern, an offshoot branch of the Yggdrasil hidden to all but the ruler of Asgard and his most trusted of men.

“You have shown great loyalty and power,” he continued, as a strange red liquid roiled before their eyes and bathed everything in its acidic glow, showing the outline of an emaciated old man who stood guard in the distance. “And both are needed for this duty.”

His grip on Fenrir’s shoulder tightened, as he raised his voice slightly. “Mimir!”

The man—Mimir?— turned his head and approached them. His eyes widened as he saw Fenrir, before turning to the Allfather with a slight frown.

“Is this the one? He can’t be much older than your youngest, your majesty.”

“He is capable. I have seen it myself—already his strength rivals that of Tyr’s.” The Allfather replied shortly, and Mimir’s expression shuttered for a second before he slowly inclined his head.

“As you will it, my King.” Then he turned his head, and looked directly at Fenrir with sincere regret in his eyes. “I am sorry child, but this is a burden I can no longer carry.”

Even as they watched, the red liquid burned brighter and brighter— until the old man pulled on the heavy chain in his hands with all his might, and Fenrir hadn’t even noticed the cavern had been shifting beneath their feet until it stopped. Meanwhile, Mimir doubled over and coughed. And coughed, and coughed— a wet, harsh sound that only ended after a few painful-sounding minutes, upon which the silence was only broken by his ragged breathing.

“It’s acting up.” The Allfather frowned, and Mimir gave a thin smile, though his voice was weary.

“Your majesty, it is a cornerstone of existence. _It cannot be tamed._ You are certain?”

In reply, the Allfather gave a single nod.

“I have seen what will follow if we leave it unguarded. His age is unfortunate, but there is no better successor I have been able to find.” He said, as if Fenrir wasn’t standing before them both, wasn’t even now desperately trying to escape the bruising grip of his best friend’s father.

Then the King of Asgard looked down at Fenrir, and issued the decree that sealed his fate.

“Protect the Aether with your life. Your realm depends on it.”

Fenrir tried to fight it, tried to run away, tried to escape the burden that was being forced upon far-too-narrow shoulders by those who should have protected him— but he was just one boy, against the might of the Allfather and the god of war.

That he managed to crush Tyr’s hand in the struggle was a testament to how fiercely he fought, but to no avail: the chain in Mimir’s hands was pressed into his own and remained with him regardless of what form he took, and so it was that a child became the last line of defense between the Aether and those who sought to use it.

* * *

“That is not the only reason you chose him, was it.” Mimir accused as they left the cavern, a young wolf’s howls echoing in the tunnels behind them.

“Those who associate with my youngest will one day bring about Ragnarök.” Odin replied shortly, “Destined to destroy Asgard and everything it stands for. They are fortunate I am willing to find another use for their potential, after what I have Seen.”

Mimir stopped where he stood, and gave them both a cold look. “You would damn children and call it a mercy?”

“Take care of what you say to your King.” Tyr snapped as he continued clutching at the bandages around his hand, and Mimir snarled.

“I have given over half my life in service to the throne, whelp. I have sacrificed far more than you could dream, and tethered reality itself since before you were born for the sake of a home I will never see again.”

Both Odin and Tyr frowned at that.

“What—“

Mimir smiled, and this time, they saw the blood on his teeth. “The Aether does not take kindly to being imprisoned. It fought just as the child you damned, and will fight until it breaks free and a day ago I would have feared such a happening but now, I wonder…”

He started laughing, and either didn’t notice or didn’t care for the way Tyr reached for his sword. Even as he fell to the floor as his limbs were no longer capable of supporting him, even as he spat out blood, he continued laughing— even as the poison that was the Aether’s presence took its toll on a body that no longer possessed the strength or will to fight it.

“I served loyally, but now I see. The Asgard I swore to protect never truly existed, did it? Not if you see no concern with what you do.” Mimir shook his head, and closed his eyes as every breath came to him less easily than his last. “Oh, Odin Borson— take care. For what you have seen may yet come to pass, with monsters of your own making.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the premise of this fic: "time travel fix-it" meets "on whom would this opportunity be wasted on the most?"
> 
> One of Odin's [ _the Norse god_ ] many attributes is sorcery, and the reason he sacrificed his eye in the myths was for knowledge. In this mythology-MCU mashup, that translates to "he lost his eye and watched up to the events of Ragnarok in his visions". Which, for anyone else, wouldn't have necessarily been a bad thing— but since this is Odin "banished my favorite child because he had a tantrum/ didn't give a shit about other son having a mental breakdown" Borson, well...let's just say his idea of fixing things isn't exactly great.
> 
> also: this fic isn't slated to have more than 5 chapters at most.


	2. Hela

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one cast to the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _implied child abuse, MCU!Odin being being MCU!Odin, implications of Asgard being an empire, canon-typical violence, etc._ ], with a bit of a timeskip. If you're a fan of Asgard and/or Odin, this is not the fic for you.
> 
> Also, the reason for the "one-sided Hela/Thanos" tag, feat. Thanos being a creeper and Hela telling him to fuck off. This is going to be a recurring element throughout this fic, and you can probably tell how it ends. [Hint: the tags contain spoilers.]

Hela had known Fenrir for a scarce few decades when he went missing.

By all rights, it wasn’t much time: certainly, compared to the centuries the average Asgardian lived, it was but the blink of an eye. But to Hela, to Loki and Jörmungandr— to the few who constantly found themselves outcasts because they weren’t proper Asgardians, were _wrong_ — it was like seeing the sun, only to have it ripped from them.

Loki had frowned at first. Then, as the days went by and nobody cared, his frown deepened and he grew more haggard as he stopped teaching them runes and started sneaking out to do his own searching after yet another non-answer from Heimdall on Fenrir’s whereabouts.

Hela didn’t blame him; loath as Asgard was to admit it, Loki’s friends were a force to be reckoned with. While she outstripped them all when it came to combat training, Fenrir was no pushover and had the potential to become a great warrior in a scarce few centuries, while Jörmungandr’s youth and bookish nature belied the mind of a brilliant tactician in the making.

Yet the months and years ticked by with no response, and now the rumors were saying Fenrir had gone on some foolhardy quest on his own, had run off…ha. As if.

Fenrir never would have left them willingly, and that knowledge _burned._

Hela pushed herself in their training as a result, desperate to be recognized as a fully-fledged warrior just so she could get permission to go out and help Loki with his search. While Thor’s friends were still play-fighting, Hela tore through opponents up to three times her size and ten times her age, one after another and still ready for more because she had to improve, _had_ to be strong enough to find Fenrir and bring him home.

She was the first to arrive and the last to leave when it came to training, and at one point one of Thor’s friends looked like she wanted to speak with her but Hela had no time for anything of the sort. It helped that some of the older warriors were eager to see the next generation flourishing should there be a need for another war, with the last one still fresh in everyone’s memory. Tyr, the captain of the guard, paid special attention to her— pushing her harder and further than any of the other trainees remotely her age.

At the time, Hela didn’t think to ask why; after all, she was known as one of Loki’s friends, she had assumed it had been as a favor to him. Had thought that he’d seen potential in her, and wanted to pass on his knowledge now that his injuries forced him off the battlefield. Hadn’t thought to look a gift horse in the mouth, for she was a no-name orphan who was now being personally trained by some of the best warriors Asgard had to offer.

She should have known.

Then the Allfather quietly summoned her, and… Hela had known something was amiss with the royal family since the first time she saw the way the Thor treated Loki. Fenrir had been the most optimistic of their little group and saw nothing more than an older brother teasing a younger sibling, Hela was the one who noticed the cruel edge to some of Thor’s jibes and the way Loki always tensed when he came near.

It was not until the day she was summoned by Odin Borson, however, that she learned true **_hate._**

“This is an honor given to only my most trusted,” Odin said as he took a child to a cold and sunless realm, far from everything and everyone she knew.

“You have shown great potential,” he continued as she was immediately swarmed by the first of many undesirables.

“Do your duty. Do not let them escape,” the Allfather decreed, and left her to fend for herself in the darkness with nothing but her wits and a pair of swords too large for her hands.

The first few months were the hardest: Hela found herself fighting day and night just to get some breathing room as attacker after attacker faced off against the best fighter of her generation.

In between, she learned from the more lucid denziens that this was Asgard’s dumping site for its immortal enemies and prisoners, all of whom would stop at nothing to escape and wreak havoc on her home. That it was their ultimate line of defense, the last thing that kept the Nine Realms safe from the monsters of legend. That Tyr had been the previous watchkeeper of this Norn-forsaken realm, until his injuries had worsened and Surtur had nearly escaped had not it been for the intervention of the Allfather.

It was not too difficult to put the pieces together after that.

If she succeeded in keeping everyone in check, then it would be a great honor and if she failed…who would miss a no-name orphan?

Well, other than her friends, anyway.

Hela tried not to think about what Loki and Jörmungandr must be doing now, or what Odin had done to Fenrir. It hurt too much, remembering those golden days under a sunlit sky where she didn’t have to be on guard even in her sleep. She was good, had proven to be the best of her generation— obviously, if the god of war himself had considered her a worthy successor— but even she had limits.

She was now the only thing that stood between a horde of bloodthirsty monsters and the rest of the world, after all.

Funny— had Odin or Tyr so much as asked, she might have even accepted her role willingly. Asgard had not always been kind to her but it’d been _home,_ had they so much as asked she might have agreed that her talents could be put to greatest use here, that no matter how hard a choice it was, it was necessary for the greater good. Necessary to let herself be sealed here, if it kept everyone she cared about safe and sound.

But they didn’t _ask._ The King of Asgard and the god of war simply placed a tremendous burden on the shoulders of a child, and walked away.

Hela would never forgive them for it.

It was easy to lose track of time: days were just as cold as nights, and the only light to be found was from magic cast under a starless sky. Day after day of neverending combat, of keeping everyone in check and under control and cursing whatever magic it was that bound her to this realm.

Even so, Hela knew she was a scant handful of centuries old when she first discovered her inheritance. Discovered it, and closed her eyes for a second in bittersweet nostalgia.

It’s just— Asgardians had the potential to become gods. It was a time of great celebration when one discovered their domain, for it was a rare gift of the Norns, a mark of great strength and coming of age. The more combat-applicable, the better, but even the most domestic of domains were celebrated.

Typically, it took the better part of a lifetime for an Asgardian to come into their own. Under ordinary circumstances, a cheer went up the day a god was discovered and grand feasts were held, with many songs sung.

Hela was alone in a place very far from home when she first became the goddess of Death. 

When a crown was formed from the shadows around her, impaling the demon who’d been trying to sneak up from behind while the swords she was wielding hissed and warped under her hands.

In that moment, she laughed. It was a sharp, harsh thing, just like everything else in this realm, something cold and cruel and more proof that she truly belonged here.

A goddess of Death, and of this realm.

Odin Borson may have sealed her here, but it was now **_hers_** in a way he could never dream of matching.

Hela laughed until she cried, as her power manifested itself again and again amidst the screams of her enemies.

Not long afterwards, Hela established order in her realm.

Well— more than before, at any rate. There was still plenty of fighting to be had, but now it was tempered with the knowledge she could now kill with a touch, a power to be feared when surrounded by otherwise-immortal beings.

The first time had been an accident, but having the monster’s arms crumble under her hands had been enough to cement her position in a way that no amount of bloodshed could have managed.

It was enough.

And it was more than enough, when the man who had once been her King sought to bring her to heel— only to find that the child he’d cast into shadows had become a Queen in her own right and of her own making.

The Allfather sent in his elite, sent in his Valkyries and and Einherjar in an attempt to force her to bow.

Hela showed them the same mercy she experienced at the hands of Asgard.

More mercy, actually— after all, there were survivors who ran back to their golden realm. Their pride shattered and their numbers decimated, true, but _alive_ and able to return home the moment they realized their fight was doomed from the start.

[ _Hela almost couldn’t remember how it felt to have the sun on her face._ ]

At long last, however, Odin washed his hands of her. Stopped trying to force her to acknowledge him, and resumed dumping his enemies onto her domain but otherwise leaving her be.

It was a lonely existence— a dark throne surrounded by nothing but enemies.

But Hela took the burden she was given, and made it her own. Wore it with the grace and bearing of someone ten times her age, as she ruled this sunless realm of the damned with an iron fist.

* * *

The purple bastard first arrived partway through her knocking down the new arrivals down a few pegs, and his smile had made her feel extremely uneasy.

“Beautiful,” he said as she decapitated the most annoying of the new demons, and snarling beasts had given her less chills than the note of reverence in his voice.

It probably had something to do with the hunger in his eyes. Yeah, that was probably it.

Her magic had flared the second she’d registered his presence, and he hadn’t so much as flinched even though he had her full attention.

“Who are you, and what is your purpose here?”

“So it’s true.” He replied instead, with a strange sort of awe. “The rumors have spread far and wide of the goddess of Death, ruler of the place they now call Helheim. I came to see for myself, but…nowhere did they mention your beauty."

Hela was the heir to the god of war in every way that mattered, willingly or not. Had regularly dealt with remorseless serial killers and maniacs who thrived in the extermination of planets. Had more than proved her combat capabilities over the course of her lifetime, and singlehandedly conquered her realm.

Even so, some strange instinct still flared to life, screaming at her to watch her words with this knave even before he opened his mouth again.

“Come with me, for with that battle you’ve captured my heart.”

It took everything she had to not make a face at that. To not react, to conserve every last shred of decorum and regal bearing she had because she’d glimpsed the Allmother and had envied her grace and emulating it had been one of the only silver linings she’d found in this entire mess and like _hell_ she was losing it because of some scoundrel’s words.

Instead, Hela straightened up, and let her smile sharpen until it was little more than a baring of teeth as the shadows around them stilled in anticipation.

**_“No.”_ **

It was the first time she’d watch him leave, but it most definitely was not the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you hadn't guessed it already, the Thanos in this fic is closer to what little I know of the comics, rather than the movies. 
> 
> also: don't worry, there's going to be a happy ending to this mess. Just...not for Odin.


	3. Jörmungandr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one who got away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _implied child abuse, threats of harm to children, MCU!Odin being MCU!Odin, etc._ ], and a lot of my headcanons. 
> 
> also, playing fast and loose with the timeline, mythology, and MCU canon to make it make sense, feat. several timeskips and a bit of a cliffhanger ~~sorry not sorry~~

When Fenrir vanished, it took less than a week before his friends’ concern had them scouring Asgard in a vain attempt to find him.

When Hela didn’t meet them after practice one warm summer day, Jörmungandr didn’t need Loki’s ashen face to know something was terribly wrong.

This time, they didn’t even try to ask for help.

Instead, Loki clung to Jörmungandr like a burr whenever he had the chance, and together they dove into magical research like never before because once was a tragedy, twice could be considered coincidence, but he was now the last of their number who still roamed freely.

[ _Fenrir’s strength was unparalleled, Hela was a warrior without peer._ ]

Jörmungandr’s greatest attribute was his mind, despite his youth.

He took one look at the reality of the situation, and _knew_ that his days on Asgard were numbered.

Loki took slightly longer to accept it, desperately wanting to have faith that it was some sort of horrible coincidence that his few friends were disappearing one by one to forces far too powerful to name.

But he came around in the end, and after breaking down in tears while clinging to his youngest friend in a hidden alcove, wiped his face and took a deep breath.

Then, and only then, did he square his shoulders, look Jörmungandr in the eyes, and say, “you need to run.”

When Hela vanished, they didn’t listen to the rumors that inevitably cropped up. Didn’t try to put out feelers, didn’t sneak about looking for hints.

Instead, Loki took his youngest friend aside, and proceeded to drill every last bit of knowledge he could muster. Taught him everything he could think of— from runes to magic, laid bare every single card he’d ever held close to his chest. Loki taught him what he’d discovered of how to shadow-walk, how to hide from Heimdall’s Sight. Shapeshifting turned out to be a bust: when he finally managed it, Jörmungandr found himself an enormous serpent rather than anything that could have possibly be used to hide, but was also the day they discovered how well-suited he was for combat magic in relation to illusions, and how to best compensate for it.

Knowledge master sorcerers would have murdered for, exchanged freely in hidden alcoves and secret passageways.

Jörmungandr flourished under Loki’s tutoring; under any other circumstances, they both knew he would have grown to become a fine mage.

But this was the hand they’d been dealt, two of their friends were missing, and time was running out for the last of their number— for this time, Loki’s caution and overprotectiveness had grown until it could have been considered paranoia, had it not been warranted.

For _something_ was out there, and none of his friends were safe. They didn’t know who, or what, or why, but two of the most promising youths of their generation were now gone and nobody even cared.

[ _Nowhere was safe, not anymore._ ]

Things finally came to a head late one evening.

“You need to run, _now._ ” Loki found himself insisting as he shoved the rucksack at his youngest friend. “You need to run, it’s worse than we thought—“

“What?”

“It’s the Allfather, Jör. It’s the Allfather, he’s the one who said he’d _‘take care’_ of you and I— I’m so, so sorry, but you need to **_run_** —“

Jörmungandr blinked drowsily up at him, and Loki wanted to kick himself for waking him up but they had no time, didn’t know if it was _safe—_

“It’s the Allfather, I’m willing to bet he’s the one who vanished Fenrir and Hela, and you’re next—”

Even still half-asleep, his friend wasn’t even surprised at the admission. That’s probably what hurt the most.

“Please, you need to _go._ ”

With a thought, Loki reached into the rucksack he’d enchanted and pulled out the cloak he had been working on. It was a prototype, still had some flaws that would have kept him from proudly showing it off to his family if not for the current situation— but it worked for what they needed it for, as demonstrated by Jörmungandr’s yelp.

“Wha— Hey, put me down!”

“If you’re not going to move, it’s going to move for you.” Loki replied stoutly, more focused on shoving his belongings into the rucksack while Jörmungandr fought a losing battle against a garment specifically enchanted to protect him.

“When did you even have the time to make this?” His friend hissed even as he gave into the inevitable and helped him pack.

“I was making it for Fenrir, didn’t really have the heart to work on it afterwards. It’s yours, now. Take it and _run._ And don’t look back. Please, stay safe.”

“Come with me,” Jörmungandr implored as they made their way towards the forest. He’d seen how Fenrir’s and Hela’s disappearances had torn away at his friend, seen the way the rest of Asgard treated him. If he left, Loki would be alone in a way he wouldn’t wish even on his worst enemies.

“You _know_ I can’t.”

Runaway orphans were one thing. A runaway Prince of Asgard was another, and they both knew it.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“It’s okay, Jör. I’ll take care of it, and…I _need_ to know what he did to the others. To get them back.”

Suddenly, Loki found himself wrapped up in a tight hug.

“I’ll see you again, I promise.” Jörmungandr said, voice soft but deadly serious. “I don’t know when, or how, but know _you are not alone._ ”

And with that, Jörmungandr bade his farewell to the last Asgardian he cared about, and turned his back on what had once been his home.

Hiding from the Allfather was not easy, no matter how much they’d trained.

Despite having a head start, Jörmungandr still found himself hard-pressed to stay one step ahead of the seemingly-ubiquitous armored guards who searched the Nine Realms for a runaway youth.

If not for the few illusions he'd figured out, if not for his skill in ducking between the branches of Yggdrasil— he did not know what would have happened.

An empire was chasing after him for reasons only the Norns knew, and…things were getting desperate. Jörmungandr wasn’t the warrior Fenrir or Hela was, he was a scholar first and foremost.

A young scholar, at that: Fenrir had always teased him for being the youngest of their group, but this was the first time Jörmungandr acutely felt his age working against him. He was good, but it seemed the Allfather had sent the finest Asgard had to offer to search for him, and he only needed to make a mistake once for it to all come crashing down.

Fortunately, however, that’s when he stumbled upon the Time Stone.

Not that he’d intended to do so, but he’d been ducking another patrol and trying to avoid the locals in the sleepiest realm he’d been able to find to date. Tripping into the single most powerful relic in the place was nowhere on his to-do list, but he knew an opportunity when it grabbed him by the throat and threw him across the time-space continuum.

Well. Nobody’d be able to catch him if even _he_ didn’t know where the hell he was, that was something.

The discovery that he’d somehow crash-landed into the past, was stuck on Midgard centuries in his past?

Compared to everything else he’d had to deal with, it was par for course, really.

Forging a container for the Time Stone was relatively simple, once he got it in his head to take advantage of the situation: all he had to do was offer his expertise to the nearest village, and in between fixing hammers and making nails, he sculpted ring after ring in the forge, carefully inscribing them with runes to make something that would hopefully let him be able to use the single most powerful artifact he’d ever encountered in a way that _wouldn’t_ end in disaster.

In doing so, he also got to know the locals better. Got to know the people some called ‘Vikings’, and heard their legends of the gods who had come before, and…Jörmungandr was nothing if not an opportunistic bastard, he’d be the first to admit it.

In his defense, these Midgardians were strange in a way that could not be easily put into words. They breathed life into their stories, wove entire worlds with their breath— seers who worked magic despite not knowing what it was they were doing, had so much _potential_ it was breathtaking to observe.

So when the time came, Jörmungandr found himself speaking up, whenever they were recounting their stories. The others spoke of Odin, spoke of Tyr and Frigga and Heimdall— adding to their power, as they were worshipped as the gods they were.

He knew full well what he was doing, when he mentioned his brethren. Knew that by mentioning Fenrir, and Hela, he was adding to the people who believed in them. In the great scheme of things, it wasn’t much, not really. It wouldn’t rewrite whatever it was that’d happened to them, wouldn’t miraculously grant them the power to get free of whatever fate had befallen them.

But it was something.

[ _But these strangers wouldn’t let his siblings be forgotten._ ]

It wasn’t much, but it was something, and that was good enough for him.

The first time Jörmungandr heard of _Ragnarok,_ it was a revelation. 

It was spoken of in tones of awe, of fear and respect: the fall of Asgard, the end of days and Jörmungandr had never regretted his lack of expertise in divination more than now because the old seer's voice rose and fell and he could feel the notes of prophecy resonate through the air. 

The end of an empire, at the hands of Loki's children. Jörmungandr almost wanted to laugh, except...these people had somehow known his name, even though he'd never given it to him. Knew his form as a shapeshifter, called him the 'Midgard Serpent' though he much preferred to travel on two legs. It was eerie, but...it also explained so, _so much._ If this is what Odin feared, then...

It was a promise Jörmungandr had not made, not really: he personally held no ill will against Loki's brother, the golden Prince of Asgard he was apparently prophesied to kill [ _and **wow,** no wonder Loki had been so worried for his sake_]— but the more he thought about it, the more he found he was not entirely against the prospect of taking part in the downfall of the realm he had once called home. If he could pay back even a fraction of the grief he had experienced at the hands of those who should have protected him, he would be content.

It was not a promise he had made, but one he fully intended to keep. If it gave him the chance to reunite with his family, he would set the world ablaze with a smile. 

Time passed, and things changed. The time of Vikings was coming to an end, and…were it not for his illusions, he would have been noticed countless times.

So Jörmungandr moved once again, and headed to warmer lands. That the Time Stone decided to act up _again_ on the way was never part of the plan, but he rolled with it anyway.

For the record, he did _not_ intend to set out and create a school for the mystic arts. Did not actively go out and recruit pupils, did not intend to become Midgard’s primary guardian against extradimensional threats.

It just sort of…happened along the way, is all.

Jörmungandr had intended to keep his head down when he’d gotten to India, but then there’d been the fire demon along the way and for all Asgard _loved_ to call Midgard its protectorate, there was nobody else who'd have been able to save the village in time. 

And then it’d turned out that there’d been witnesses, and grateful townspeople, and— look, it wasn’t his fault, okay?!

So what if he gave them a false name? It happens. Even if he hadn’t expected it to follow him for the next few decades of his life.

At least these people could pronounce ‘Agamotto’ without making him cringe.

Even if some of these brats _refused_ to leave him alone, and he was a scholar but then some of them asked questions that actually made him think, and next thing he knew, they had entire hidden enclaves going on and he found himself showing them how to create magical relics like the cloak gifted to him and writing down everything he remembered from his forays into Asgard's libraries. No, he’s not entirely sure how it happened, either. 

…and then it turned out that the Time Stone preferred them to him, because of course it did. He jostles the amulet he'd carefully encased it in the wrong way and has to deal with interdimensional anomalies for a week and a bone-deep exhaustion borne of temporal strain from reliving the same time period multiple times, meanwhile some brat a fraction of his age _ **drops**_ it and it just throws off 'pretty green sparks'. _Unfair._

He can feel the strain increase with every day that ticks by, as the weight of the amulet bears down on him. It's a heavy thing, a burden that he carries every day he gets out of bed, every time he goes about his day and plasters on a smile for his students and fights the encroaching darkness with everything he has. But he's carried it since the day he forged the amulet, since the day he escaped the Allfather, and he protects it with the same fervor it saved him with and up until this latest development, he would have done his best to carry it with him for as long as possible. 

But.

Apparently, the locals can pick it up, can poke and prod and polish it with no ill effect, without the strain of infinite realities falling on their shoulders, and, well, Jörmungandr knows an opportunity when he sees it. A way to safeguard the Time Stone, without overly putting anyone at risk?

Again, he'd be the first to admit he was an opportunistic bastard: but he did his best to mitigate it by gathering the last scraps of his flagging energy, and putting it all into training up a successor. Or, well, multiple, actually: one per every major point of power he'd found, painstakingly reviewing everything he remembered about security and containment, and instilling the need for secrecy as best he could because the _last_ thing they needed was for Asgard to discover what he'd been up to. [Sure, they'd seemed to have forgotten about the people who had worshipped them here, but he was not willing to risk it.] Then, that done, he had his most stubborn apprentice swear to protect the Time Stone, and nearly passed out as he felt the burden lift away from his shoulders when she carefully took the amulet from his hands.

However, the damage was done: even though he no longer carried the burden, it would take no small amount of time to recover from the strain.

Jörmungandr bade his friends a fond farewell, and hid himself away to take a well-earned rest. Or, well, more like hibernate— whatever type of slumber it was that was like the Odinsleep, where it left the user dead to the world but completely rejuvenated afterwards. He'd need it, both to recover and to be able to face off against the Allfather himself.

Before he let his weariness drag him under, however, he quietly snuck into Asgard. Just a short trip: thanks to the Time Stone being a little _brat,_ his age was probably now closer to Heimdall's than Loki's, and he was not keen on finding out what happened if one tried to overly interfere with the timeline. As it was, he was scarcely able to distract the guards from interrupting a tearful goodbye before he felt all his years bear down on him like never before. It was all he could do to make it back to his specially-warded cave, before the exhaustion was too much to bear.

Jörmungandr closed his eyes during the tail end of the Pratihara dynasty, and woke up to the sound of the Bifrost shattering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aka yes, this is the one where the one known as the Midgard Serpent earns his name _and_ why Earth has a super-fancy school of magic feat. Infinity Stones even though we've seen Asgard act super-disdainful of anything of the sort. Hopefully it makes sense.
> 
> Also, up next: what Hela and Loki've been up to in the meantime, feat. purple creepers and the beginning of the end.
> 
> ———
> 
> edited to clarify the effect of the Time Stone.


	4. Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one who stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _MCU!Odin being MCU!Odin, implied child abuse, canon-typical violence, etc._ ]. Also, another round of Thanos being a creep, some more canon-tweaking, and several timeskips.
> 
> Also, a brief mention of suicidal thoughts, because Loki's mental health during Thor 1 was a tire fire at best.
> 
> Bit of a cliffhanger ending, too.

In another life, it would take nearly a millenium for Loki Odinson to break. Of isolation, and desperately scrambling to escape his brother’s shadow in the golden halls of Asgard— only to realize his plan had been doomed from the start, through not fault of his own.

In this world, however, life as he knew it shattered during his childhood.

The cracks in his heart had been present ever since Fenrir vanished, had grown and deepened into a chasm of fear and uncertainty with every day that passed— and then he overheard a conversation between the Allfather and the captain of the guard, and it all fell apart.

For in the span of a few sentences, his world was upended and the dawning horror that _he_ was responsible for his friends’ misfortune was almost more than he could bear. That it was his role in a _prophecy_ that damned anyone who willingly chose to befriend him, and now the way the rest of Asgard treated him _made sense_ and—

It was all he’d been able to do, getting Jörmungandr to escape and give at least _one_ of them the chance to choose their own fates, now that he had an idea of what had befallen Fenrir and Hela.

All he’d been able to do, to go back to his chambers and feign ignorance when his friend’s disappearance was finally noticed the next day.

Then, and only then, did he break down.

In another life, Loki would remain loyal to Asgard, to his brother, until his dying breath.

Here, Loki would never turn his back on those he deemed his family— but he would raze Asgard with his own bare hands, if that’s what it took to ensure their safety.

Time passed.

Time passed, and Loki did what he did best.

He put on masks and kept to the shadows, and all the while, searched relentlessly for what had become of Fenrir and Hela.

He tagged along on escapades with Thor on misadventures and practiced magic with their mother, and acted as though he felt abandoned by his own friends to allay suspicion. Played the part of the prince who only longed for his father’s approval, though he itched and ached and _burned_ to rage at the man who had spirited away people whose only crime had been to care about him.

[ _But that would show his hand, and he needed to find them first._ ]

By and by, Loki watched as life went on.

Watched as people forgot about the trio of orphans who had once played with the second Prince of Asgard, forgot about Fenrir’s barking laughter and Hela’s smirks and Jörmungandr’s jibes.

Watched, and felt a tendril of resentment take hold deep in his chest, as Asgard’s golden halls turned from home to prison.

He’d once enjoyed playing pranks on his brother, on his friends and family. Had enjoyed making them laugh, and taken care to make sure the biggest injury was to one’s pride.

Now Loki was getting known as the god of Mischief, as a liesmith, a harbinger of chaos. Impossible to pin down, a trickster whose cunning was unparalleled— and every bit as vindictive as his father when crossed.

Still in the shadow cast by his father, and his brother, still dismissed as nothing more than the dishonored second son who preferred tricks to proper battle.

Loki gritted his teeth and continued in his search for the family who had chosen him, and by and by his efforts paid off: for finally, the day came that he discovered their whereabouts.

* * *

Hela felt the presence of a new arrival in her realm, and very nearly stabbed them.

In her defense, the shadowed figure had launched itself at her and she had been fighting for nearly as long as she could remember by now.

Had she not recognized the intruder’s magic, he would not have survived the encounter.

Especially when he lunged at her and wrapped her up in a tight embrace, and if part of her hadn’t instinctively known him as _safe,_ even centuries after having seen him last, he would have received a sword through the throat for his trouble

As it was, she’d frozen up at the familiar green sparks that now burned almost too bright for her to bear, and it took a second too long for her to put a name to the voice calling her name.

“Loki?”

“Hello, sister.” he replied with tears in his eyes, “I finally found you.”

Their reunion was bittersweet.

Loki congratulated her on becoming a goddess, and promised to return with an appropriate gift the next chance he got. In between showing him her realm, Hela learned of Jörmungandr’s flight, and of the few records he’d managed to track down speaking of the Aether’s reluctant guardian and his efforts in trying to locate its cavern in between investigating the whispers of a ruler of Helheim. Learned of the prophecy Odin used as an excuse to damn innocent children to fates men time times their age would have crumbled under, when Loki gave a thin-lipped smirk and spoke of the rumors he’d heard on Midgard speaking of _Ragnarok,_ the fall of Asgard.

He spoke of much, save for himself. Hela didn’t miss that he was now alone surrounded by enemies, and wondered of the difference between golden halls and sunless skies as he smiled at her.

Then he had to leave, lest someone notice the disappearance of the second Prince of Asgard. Left Hela alone, surrounded by nothing but enemies.

But it was okay, because Loki promised he would return until they found a way to break whatever it was that kept her sealed.

The next time Loki snuck back into Helheim, it was with armor he’d enchanted himself, an emerald cloak to keep away the chill of the neverending night, and no small number of books.

Hela appreciated it all, but his company most of all: after all, _Loki_ at least heeded her wishes.

…unlike a certain purple menace who seemed to have taken her rejection personally, and returned again and again in some misbegotten attempt to court her.

Time and time again, he would approach with a ‘gift’, and bow, and ask her to come away with him to his empire in the far reaches of the galaxy. As if she were not already a Queen of her own making, as if she did not have her own hopes and wishes beyond playing house with a madman obsessed with death.

She would reject him and his offering with the same grace as ever, and he would leave with a promise to return— either oblivious to or just uncaring of the disdain on her face whenever it happened.

Unfortunately, no matter how much Hela longed to drop-kick him out of her realm once and for all, that _thrice-damned seal_ prevented her from doing so.

Not to mention his ‘gifts’— first they had been flowers. Then, dresses and finery, but it was only after Loki had started stopping by that things truly started getting out of hand.

The swords he offered did not tempt her, nor did the relics of civilizations long since turned to dust. She would have thought he’d have gotten the idea after she knocked the head of one of his enemies out of his hands, but he merely nodded and said he would find something worthy of her instead.

Ugh.

[ _Hela wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take._ ]

Loki’s visits were the only balm to the situation, making sympathetic noises to her rants of the irritant upstart and whatever else she wanted to get off her chest. Not that he could get away from Asgard too often— but in the few moments he could afford to steal away, he shared what news he could to Hela. Of the shaky armistice with the Frost Giants, of Tyr’s retirement from the royal guard, of the feast thrown in his oaf of a brother’s honor the day he became the god of Thunder.

Last time they’d spoken, he had mentioned a few things he’d been investigating, but he had also said his time for research had been cut due to preparations for Thor’s upcoming coronation.

* * *

Loki staggered into his chambers, dazed, the image of his blue skin seared into memory even though his hand had shifted back long ago.

He was—

He w—

_He wasn’t Odin’s son._

Then… ** _why?_**

Why had he been taken in by the Allfather, if he was prophesized to bring about their doom? _Why_ was he allowed to roam free, when his brethren had been damned by association?

What made Loki so special?

Odin had said something about his undying fidelity— but that didn’t make sense.

Fenrir had been loyal to a fault, Hela clung to her principles by the skin of her teeth, he’d practically had to drag Jörmungandr away for his own safety: if anything, Loki was the _least_ loyal of them all, he’d only ever cared about his family.

The rest of the world could burn for all he cared, so long as his loved ones were safe.

And yet both the Allfather and his mother [ ~~ ** _not_** _his mother, he was adopted—_~~ ] considered him a suitable regent?

Loki laughed.

And laughed, and laughed, until he started sobbing into his hands at the sheer injustice of it all.

He was in the throne room when yet another realization came to him, just as he picked Gungnir up: he could now access Fenrir’s prison, if he wished.

He would have to be careful, lest Heimdall know what he was planning, but the Gatekeeper was more concerned about orchestrating a way to get the golden prince back to his rightful throne and he could _work_ with that.

It’s not like he cared for the crown, anyway.

In between playing the dutiful diplomat, regent, and son, Loki was hard-pressed to find the time to steal away towards the dark recesses of space, following the signature left by the previous wielder of the spear he now had in hand.

But he managed it, and it made all the difference.

The Fenrir in Loki’s memories was lanky— he’d been the tallest of their little group [ _back when they’d all been brats with beautiful dreams of a future that would never be_ ]. Gangly, even though he’d nearly rivaled Thor with how much he ate at feasts, and an easy smile whenever he saw his friends. He’d been their sun, bright and charismatic.

The man who stood before him now was borderline unrecognizable.

Not physically, as his powerful build would have been imposing enough even if he didn’t tower over them all and the scars on his arms only showed how long he’d been chained. His hair looked as though it’d been hacked off with the hunting knife strapped to his belt, his nails were sharp claws that spoke of either inexperience or far too much time in his other form, and had an unnatural air to him that nearly gave him chills.

But for Loki, it was the look in his eyes that broke his heart. Something dark and feral, vicious and bloodthirsty— from one who once had been nothing but kind.

“I was appointed the guardian of the Reality Stone.” He answered Loki’s unspoken question with a wry smile, “Anyone that wants to get to it, has to go through _me._ ”

“Fenrir— I am so, _so_ ** _sorry_** _._ ”

_"You’re_ not the one who locked me up,” Fenrir snapped, getting as close to Loki as the Aether’s tether would permit, “the blame falls on the Allfather and the Allfather alone.”

“Fen—“

“What happened to the others?” Fenrir asked, voice suddenly gentle, and with that, Loki **_broke._**

He told Fenrir everything. Of Hela’s own banishment, of Jörmungandr’s escape, of his own search for them. Of the thrice-damned prophecy, and his own efforts to free them in the time since while still under the watchful gaze of the Allfather and Heimdall. Of the discoveries he’d made in the past week, and how it affected them. 

By the end of it, he was wrapped up in Fenrir’s strong embrace for the first time in centuries, shoulders shaking and a hair away from collapse.

“It’s not your fault, brother.” His oldest friend murmured into his hair even as the Aether roiled behind them. “Breathe.”

“It _is._ I **_need_** to fix it, I can’t— you were just _children_ , it’s not—”

“So were you. _Breathe._ Then talk me through it, one step at a time.”

Loki let out a shaky breath, and nodded. “I was declared the regent, but it won't be for long. I can…weaken some of the enchantments on the chain, maybe then you’ll be able to break through. I’m sorry I can’t do more, but I’m not sure when I’ll be able to see you again, and…”

“Don’t worry about me, brother. We’ll meet again.” Fenrir swore fiercely, and for a brief moment, Loki let himself hope.

He shouldn’t have, of course. One would have thought he’d have learned better by now.

Time was running out. Heimdall and the others were looking at him with even more suspicion than usual, knew of the rumors going around, but he couldn’t afford to stop now, not _yet,_ now when he was **_so close_** to getting them out—

[ _Desperate men were dangerous._ ]

Intellectually, Loki had known of the Bifrost’s destructive potential. Knew it was theoretically capable of destroying worlds, if one were to try.

Loki knew what it looked like, firing it on Helheim, so close to Jotunheim, but he no longer cared. Any moment now, Thor would come roaring back, and he didn’t doubt they’d lock him up because he could count on one hand how many people had cared about him and over half of them were unable to speak in his defense. He didn’t care about being accused of treason, didn’t care if they thought he wanted to unleash demons on the rest of the Nine Realms— so long as his plan worked, he could die happy.

[ _Please,_ ** _please_** _let it break the Allfather’s seal._ ]

Loki fought, when they tried to drag him away. Defended his position with all the ferocity of his unavenged brethren, used every scrap of rage he’d ever buried, every bit of magic he’d ever possessed: for if they thought him a monster, then he might as well prove them right.

It took Thor breaking the Bifrost for him to finally release his knives, and he didn’t know what the others were seeing as he started laughing because he could feel Hela’s shock and delight reverberate throughout the Yggdrasil.

He didn’t know. Nor did he care.

Even when stared into the abyss that stretched before him, even knowing his options were either death by falling or accept whatever punishment the Allfather decided once he discovered two of his greatest weapons were no longer under his command, Loki would make the same choice a thousand times over.

Jörmungandr was safe, Hela was free; Fenrir would soon join their number. 

He looked Thor square in the eyes, and ignored the way his older brother reached out to him.

_“I regret nothing.”_

And with that, Loki let himself fall, leaving the Norns to determine his fate.

* * *

Thanos returned to court Lady Death, only to find an empty throne in a godless place.

To say he was _very displeased_ was an understatement.

He scowled down at his latest gift, the ashes of the latest planet he had conquered, and shook his head.

_Clearly,_ he needed to find a better way to express his intentions. Something more symbolic, more powerful…no, _**the most**_ powerful, to demonstrate his devotion.

…perhaps she would appreciate a fully-assembled Infinity Gauntlet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the record: the main reason Odin didn’t lock Loki up and throw away the key is because he saw how many times he saved his brother, and what he saw of Loki’s actions had him thinking he’d put Asgard first no matter what. Which might’ve been true in a previous timeline, but seeing as how in this one, Asgard screwed over anyone who gave a damn about him? 
> 
> This is going to end well, probably.
> 
>   
> ———
> 
> 09/16/2020 edit: this was _supposed_ to be like 5 chapters at most, but then it grew a plot beyond 'Odin screws up majorly and it blows up in his face several centuries later' and next thing I know, I've got three alternate endings going on. Please stand by.


	5. The Harbinger of Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> after the Fall, putting back the pieces one fragment at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator due to skewed priorities, implied child abuse, canon-typical violence and mental health issues, butterfly effect, etc._ ]. Even more canon-tweaking due to the butterfly effect finally starting to kick in, with some found family feels along the way.
> 
> Apologies for the cliffhanger, that was the best stopping point for this chapter.

Jörmungandr did _not_ know what was going on.

All he knew was, the sound of the Bifrost shattering had been enough to rouse him from his slumber, and he could feel the echoes of Hela’s power for the first time in centuries.

It was a matter of moments for him to investigate why, to push away the dregs of his exhaustion and summon the wherewithal to steal across the branches of the Yggrasil like a thief in the night. All the while, he kept a wary eye out for whatever supernatural force was responsible for destroying one of Asgard’s greatest assets.

Tracking Hela’s magic was easy: it was merely a matter of following her signature, something he had long since mastered while trailing after errant students who had yet again stumbled into alternate dimensions.

The tricky part was everything else— the _incredibly distracting_ wail of a broken Bifrost reverberating across the Yggdrasil, the way his magic thrummed under his skin, his excitement of the possibility of finding Hela warring with his anxiety over what he might find. With every step, Jörmungandr felt his frown grow as the path he found himself following led him past Vanaheim, past Jotunheim, past even the wastes of Svartlfheim— and led him straight to a cold and sunless place.

He arrived just in time to hear a short, sharp laugh and the hiss of blades, and decades of fighting monsters and dealing with backfiring spells meant he instinctively dodged the first three swords hurled his way even before he caught sight of the one responsible.

And when he did, his breath caught.

The woman who stood before him was tall and deathly pale, with a smile as sharp as the newly-manifested weapons in her hands.

“Hela?”

She frowned at him, and for a few, brief, terrifying seconds, he could see the lack of recognition in her eyes.

He didn’t blame her; after everything he’d been through, after fleeing from Asgard’s golden halls and roaming through the Nine Realms and carving a way for himself and carrying the weight of infinite realities for centuries— he was a very different person from the young Vanir who had once loved to curl up in quiet corners with a thick stack of books.

But it hurt.

Oh, Norns, did it hurt.

He looked back at her once again, trying to see the echoes of the girl who had once tackled him to the ground in the fierce warrior that stood before him.

“Jör?” She sounded hesitant, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing, and he smiled as brightly as he could even though he was a hair away from crying.

“Hello, Hela. It’s been a while."

“I’ll say.” She said as she sheathed her swords and moved to approach him. “You barely came up to my shoulder last time I saw you, when did…”

He gave a choked laugh, and opened his arms to embrace the closest thing he had to a sister, ignoring the way her armor dug into him as she lunged in and swept him up in a hug. “It’s a long story. Want to hear it here, or…”

“Away.” Hela said immediately, the look in her eyes suddenly colder than the air around them. “Loki said he’d get me out and he did, I _refuse_ to spend another second in this cesspit.”

“You saw Loki?”

She gave him a look, before pointedly casting her gaze over the desolate landscape around them.

“Of course. Allow me,” Jörmungandr said, and offered her his hand with a bow and flourish. He didn't need to look to know she took it, rolling her eyes with the slightest hint of a smile as they started walking and just like that, they left Helheim— and he sorely wanted to hear the story behind why it was named that, but _not the time_ — and slowly made their way back to Midgard, catching up along the way.

Hela spoke of what Loki had shared over the years, of what they’d known of Fenrir’s fate and how Loki had somehow managed to break her seal. It took every last scrap of self-control he possessed to not storm up to the Allfather when he heard what role Hela had been thrust into, but the brittleness he could now see in her smile him reminded him of his priorities.

Right. Because right now, his sister had been surrounded by enemies for over half a lifetime. He’d seen tamer cases of battle fatigue in warriors with a fraction of what she’d experienced, she would undoubtedly need help relearning how to live outside Helheim. Not to mention his own magic was a feral thing right now, still recovering from the strain of anchoring an Infinity Stone and any enchantment he cast was about as likely to backfire on him as not.

Vengeance could wait, his family came first.

Even though Hela had wanted to immediately storm Asgard— but he’d always been the tactician of their group, and so she’d only grumbled a little when he’d argued for a stay of execution while they both recovered their strength and got a lay of the land, discover what had happened to Loki.

They arrived at the entrance of his carefully-warded abode in the realm he’d grown to consider home, and he watched in equal parts helpless amusement and secondhand grief as Hela turned her face to the sky and spent a solid ten minutes just taking in the stars before turning around to stare at the forest around them. Then she paused and with a single, suddenly mischievous look, immediately and sprinted off with a laugh and just like that, Jörmungandr also found himself shedding all sense of dignity and decorum as he shifted into his alternate form and they raced for the first time since childhood.

It wasn’t the same as before, not really; the full moon was lighting their way, rather than a golden sun. The tremendous creature that crashed through the undergrowth was a serpent rather than a wolf, and there were no ravens to be found.

But…it was something.

Jörmungandr raced his sister for the first time in centuries through the shadowed forest, utterly fearless.

[ _They didn’t fear the dark, the were the scariest monsters who roamed in it._ ]

Afterwards, they go back to his home.

Working out how things would work from there was…a work in progress, to say the least. Living with Hela was surreal, and the discoveries were not always for the best.

In the first week alone, his sister nearly killed him on over thirty separate occasions because her reflexes had been honed to such a lethal extent that any noise in her sleep was enough to register as an attack. Thus far, he’d lost three bookshelves, two tables, and what had once been his favorite couch to her swords.

Each time, she would wake up, and he’d find himself trying to banish the guilt and horror in her eyes as she saw the destruction she’d wrought because it wasn’t her fault, not really. This was the first time in centuries that she wasn’t sleeping with one eye open, of course it would take time for her body to remember what her mind already knew about the safety of her new surroundings.

But it was okay, it was fine.

It wasn’t like he was much better, anyway: not when he found himself startling awake and reaching for an amulet that wasn’t there, or struggling to open a portal to a place that no longer existed because his magic was still haywire and he’d slept through so, _so much_ —

It was fine. Or, at least, it would be. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but someday, they’d both be in a better place than before.

And in the meantime, they both threw themselves into the world around them.

Where it’d taken him decades to grudgingly adopt Midgard as his new home, Hela dove into everything it had to offer overnight. More than once, she pestered him into practicing his portals via short visits to locations she’d read about over the glass square of a ‘smartphone’ she’d picked up somewhere along the way just to see the sights, and had somehow accumulated a list of hobbies a mile long, as well as a chocolate stash she would cheerfully murder for.

Meanwhile, Jörmungandr found himself disappointed, but not surprised, when he found out that the locals had gotten even better at killing in the time since he’d last seen them. War after bloody war, in between members of the same species no less, as if their mayfly lives weren’t short enough as it was. Really, they reminded him of Asgard, to the point where it was giving him a headache. Much like the unpleasant discovery that somehow, _another_ Infinity Stone had ended up on Midgard, though he doubted he would ever find out just how the locals had managed to get their hands on the _Tesseract,_ let alone survive prodding at it for what seemed to be decades without it lashing out even once. [ _Ugh. Blatant favoritism._ ]

…also, it turned out that his students in magic had apparently taken his teachings and promptly turned around and made it into something borderline unrecognizable while he’d been asleep. Granted, he’d done what he could to protect his new home from extradimensional threats, but the creation of what seemed to be a secretive but incredibly sophisticated network?

Hela had laughed at him for five minutes straight, after the face he’d made at the discovery.

She’d also called him an overachiever, for creating a school of magic that answered to no one. Which was remarkably ironic, coming from the one who had singlehandedly conquered the realm for which she’d been appointed watchkeeper— and whose disappearance had apparently resulted in all of the denizens of Helheim escaping.

Helheim was now empty, and all its demons set loose upon the Nine Realms for the first time in living history.

From the sound of it, Asgard was truly struggling: with the Bifrost shattered, there was no way to maintain their grip on their empire, not when they were now besieged by the very beings who had been kept in check by one of their own for centuries.

For apparently, Asgard had grown soft in the time since he’d left it.

Or, well, the peacetime bought with the suffering of its children had— for now, the finest warriors in all the Nine Realms struggled against the demons who had not seen the light of day in millennia. Asgardians who had been raised secure in the supremacy of their realm’s might were now faced with the grim reality as war was brought to its doorstep.

Hela had sneered at the news.

An entire realm was being asked to do the same thing it had demanded of a single child for centuries, and had been brought to its knees in a matter of months.

Honestly, she looked guiltier about how it was affecting the other realms, not that Jörmungandr blamed her for it— _Asgard_ had been the one to conquer them, to lure away their best and brightest and magnanimously offer its help only to fail to follow through in their time of need. It wasn’t on her to shoulder this burden; certainly, she’d never been thanked for it before.

But for the sake of her peace of mind, Jörmungandr offered to help free the other realms from their tormentors. If his calculations were correct, he could trap most of them in mirror dimensions without too much trouble. Not to mention it’d give them a chance to be on the lookout for Loki’s magical signature, which had yet to show up even though all reports had him falling into the Bifrost and while there was a very good chance he was dead, Hela said she’d _know_ if one of her family entered her domain.

So they were doing this. It would set back their plans for Asgard by a bit, but…they needed the practice, anyway.

For fighting together, and to get back in the swing of things. Especially because if he remembered correctly, the Nine Realms were soon to align in a way that had been described as a ‘Convergence’ in the few books he’d ever found on the matter, and knowing their luck, knowing how their new home seemed to attract chaos?

It would be prudent to be prepared for the worst. _Especially_ since that was the best time for them to strike back at the ones who had hurt them, last thing they needed was to worry about unexpected deviations from the plan.

Midgard was as safe as he could make it: the Masters of the Mystic Arts [ _and wow he_ ** _still_** _couldn’t get over what they’d named it_ ] seemed to have things well in hand, though they seemed displeased by the uptick of creatures from other realms trying to stir up trouble. Even so, Jörmungandr still went around and strengthened the wards he’d erected the last time he’d roamed the Earth. Not that they had been affected by his slumber, not when he’d taken great care to key them to Midgard itself rather than him, but…reinforcement couldn’t hurt. Should something arrive on a scale far greater than what the local sorcerers could handle, a guardian borne of the Midgardians’ hopes and fears should emerge from the inky depths of their seas.

…theoretically, at least. Thus far, it had not been activated, and he sincerely hoped the circumstances that would summon such an entity would never come to pass.

That done, they finally set off and methodically worked their way through the branches of the Yggdrasil.

Hela called it a vacation. Jörmungandr begged to differ.

Muspelheim would never be somewhere he would have willingly set foot on if not at his sister’s insistence, vacation or no. Neither was he a fan of Jotunheim’s bitter cold, though it seemed Hela had been as just disinclined to linger after they’d finished trapping the most annoying of demons who’d taken Hela’s departure from her realm as a pass to continue their reign of terror.

Fortunately, it seemed that those two were merely the worst-case scenarios: certainly, Svartalfheim had been a leisurely stroll in comparison to Muspelheim’s searing heat, and the Dwarves of Nidavellir had apparently guarded their forges with enough ferocity that there had only been a handful of truly idiotic scoundrels to lock away. Alfheim and Vanaheim had taken longer, and even then— it was nothing, not for them.

Not for the goddess of Death, or the first Sorcerer Supreme of Earth. Not for two of the monsters fated to bring about the fall of Asgard.

By the end of it, they knew how to best fight together— how to take advantage of the light cast Jörmungandr’s enchantments to extend the reach of Hela’s shadows, how comfortably navigate the way he could twist the terrain with nothing more than a flick of the wrist and a thought until down was up and rivers ran sideways. They still hadn’t found a trace of Loki, or Fenrir, but…for the most part?

It was a productive trip, to say the least.

Once it was over, they headed back home, and took the time to rest, and _plan_.

Sure, no plan survives first contact with the enemy— but storming Asgard with anything less that some vague objective would be a fool’s errand. Ideally, it should have been more than just the two of them, but needs must and they were out of ideas for how to get back at Odin, or find out the specifics of what happened to their brethren now that they had exhausted all other avenues available to them.

Even so, they were caught flat-footed several months later. Were caught completely off-guard when they felt _something_ forcibly activate the Tesseract mere hours before their planned invasion, followed by a sensation that had Hela choking on her tea and Jörmungandr tripping over thin air and falling flat on his face before whipping around to meet her shocked gaze because they _recognized it._

How could they not?

Someway, somehow, Loki was now on Midgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, everyone, because a lot of things are going to go down very fast. 
> 
> ...on a number of levels, because this fic was originally meant to be something short and sweet and completed in less than a week. Apologies for the delay, the plot overhaul took longer than expected. If anyone's curious, I'll post the original ending as a bonus chapter.


	6. The Unfettered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a meeting of monsters, a warring of plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _unreliable narrator due to skewed priorities, implied child abuse, canon-typical violence and mental health issues, butterfly effect, etc._ ]. 
> 
> Here's where the butterfly effect really shines through, because the timeline's really shifted and in my outline, I called this the start of chaos because of reasons that will quickly become evident. Lot of action, lot of POV shifts and inaccurate-but-still-truer-than-MCU-canon's-version delving into Norse mythology.

SHIELD had already been under fire, even before a wild-eyed alien god had somehow swept in and stolen the Tesseract.

Dr. Jane Foster had been the one to report unusual [ _but otherwise completely harmless_ ] readings around the world in the weeks prior to the theft, but it had not been considered more than an academic curiosity until said readings intensified in certain regions, resulting in gravitational anomalies and alleged temporal fluctuations— after which she had quickly become their lead expert on the matter, quickly followed by Dr. Erik Selvig, and both were provided with all resources at their disposal.

When the readings started spiking even more intensely than before, SHIELD had gone on red alert and started to scramble their personnel accordingly— and then Loki had arrived in a whirlwind of blue, catching them completely off-guard and things only went sideways from there.

On the one hand, they were very fortunate he had apparently decided to make a splash in Germany: finding him otherwise would have been beyond their limits at the moment.

On the other…well, the evidence spoke for itself.

* * *

Tony Stark hadn’t been invited to this particular party, but that didn’t keep him from crashing it.

Hey, in his defense, SHIELD had called in as many heavy hitters as they’d been able to reach. Which, considering how their servers were practically on fire with what was apparently something almost entirely unrelated but simultaneously going down, well…he couldn’t blame them. The reading had been very, very informative, and he still found himself hard-pressed to keep up.

So he’d showed up with a bang, ready to roll with the punches and figure out where to go from there.

Had been ready to work with Captain America and deal with the megalomaniac holding people hostage.

…he had _not_ been ready for the gigantic glowing wolf that barged in with a snarl and swept said megalomaniac off into the night.

Funny, though: up until then, Loki had seemed to be in complete control of the situation. Even with every gun in his suit and the Quinjet pointed at him, he’d had a confidence that rankled— yet it’s when he drops his spear that he freaks out.

Not that Tony blamed him, per se: when the _massively_ overgrown wolf had snatched the guy up in its jaws like some sort of demented chewtoy, even he hadn’t been able to bite back a yelp when it'd come out of nowhere.

Seriously though— where had it even come from?! A wolf with teeth twice the size of his head was pretty damn obvious, how had it managed to get the drop on them all when it _glowed_?

“Did that guy hit my head harder than I thought, or did that really just happen?” Captain America asked with admirable aplomb, and despite everything, Tony snorted.

“Sorry, Cap. Looks like Clifford over there stole your thunder.”

“Clifford?” The man his father had spent over half his life searching for asked, and Tony shook his head with a groan.

"Big red dog, never mind. Come on, let’s go—“

So, of course, that’s when the other aliens show up to the party.

Of course. Like things weren’t chaotic enough as it was, why not throw in yet _another_ group into this mix. Where were these guys even coming from, seriously?

“We seek the Aether.” Their apparent ringleader said, and eyed them all contemptuously while not-very-subtly reaching for their weapons. Their very shiny, and very, very pointy weapons.

“Oh, joy.”

“Think they’re friendlies?” Captain America asked quietly even as he readjusted his grip on his shield, and Tony readied his repulsors in lieu of any other answer.

It could have been a bloodbath: the civilians hadn’t had much time to run and hide with all chaos going on. There simply wasn’t much cover to be found, and…well, these newest aliens had a certain sort of _malice_ that even Loki in all his megalomaniacal glory couldn’t hope to match.

It could have been a bloodbath: there were so many of them, and Tony could count their assets on one hand: his suit, the Quinjet, and Captain America.

It could have been a bloodbath.

Tensions were high, weapons were drawn— and then **_yet another goddamn alien showed up._**

“Svartálfar,” a goth chick who looked _way_ too much like Loki said, “leave, or perish by my blade.”

* * *

This was _not_ the reunion Fenrir had hoped for.

Then again, he hadn’t exactly intended to take the Aether with him when he made his escape, but he’d seen an opportunity to give Asgard a heart attack whenever someone noticed their oh-so-precious weapon was no longer under their thumb and took it.

That part, he didn’t regret: it turned out that the Aether had wanted freedom almost as much as he had. Or, well. At least it wasn’t hurting him, not the way it had when he’d been bound to it. His strength and speed had only increased in the time since, and this was the lightest he’d felt since the day the Allfather had pressed a chain the size of his wrist into his hands.

Next thing he knew, he was racing through the Nine Realms with Dark Elves on his tail because surprise surprise, someone wanted to use it as a weapon and like him, the Aether didn’t want to be used. Fun times.

However, even that was secondary to the most pressing matter at hand: his brother in all but blood.

His brother in all but blood, whose scent he’d stumbled upon during his latest round of evading the would-be thieves of the Aether. Fenrir would recognize that scent anywhere, let alone now.

Except…

Something was terribly wrong.

Because his brother— his brother, who had stopped at nothing in his search to find and free him and his siblings, now towered over others, reeking of pain and darkness and no small amount of fear.

Fenrir didn’t know what was going on. He only had his last conversation with Loki to go off of, and what he’d glimpsed during his mad dash for freedom, but he was going to find out and _destroy_ whoever did this to his brother.

It took another few minutes of sprinting in his wolf form before he found an appropriate hiding place, before he gently set Loki down and shifted back.

“Loki? Loki, it’s me.”

“Take me back.” His brother said, wild-eyed and somehow even more fearful than before.

“Loki—“

“I have a mission, I cannot afford to leave, he’ll hunt me down, I _need_ the Scepter—“

“Loki!”

“Take me back, Fen, I need to—“

“Whatever it is, I can help.” Fenrir replied, gently taking his brother’s flailing hands.

“You can’t, it’s not safe, he’ll get you too—“

“Who is this ‘he’?” Fenrir asked, a growl building in the back of his throat and Aether roiling in his veins as he took in every detail he could of the brother who had helped free him, who was now in thrall of some unknown but clearly malevolent being.

Loki flinched. Then, after a pause, he squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, his reply clearly hurting him even as he choked it out.

“He's after the Infinity Stones, he already has three and once he has the Tesseract—“

Fenrir’s heart lurched when he realized what his brother wasn’t saying, and he felt the power that wasn’t his but had settled in his bones nonetheless roil in response.

He was telling him to run.

Was telling him to abandon the family who needed him, and the worst part was, Fenrir couldn’t deny it. Not when he already had Dark Elves on his tail. Not when whoever it was clearly had rattled his brother so badly he'd rather push away possible allies for fear of their safety.

“Take me back, Fen.” Loki said, voice pained, and Fenrir gritted his teeth so hard he was surprised he didn’t crack a molar as he nodded.

“…very well. Get on my back, brother, I’ll take you where you need.”

With that, he shifted back to his wolf form, and once Loki had clambered onto his back, made his way back to civilization. All the while, Fenrir memorized the differences his brother’s scent, and swore to track down and pay back whatever harm had been done to his brother thousandfold.

* * *

Doctor Stephen Strange, Guardian of the New York Sanctum, frowned at his phone as yet another notification of sea monster sightings came in even as the news reported on what was going on in Germany, and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“This is what happens when you’re short-staffed, people.” He muttered, and sighed as Wong shook his head at him.

“You know better than anyone that’s not why.”

“Well, what am I supposed to think? _You’re_ the one with experience, you should be the one running this show. Where’s the Ancient One, anyway?”

“Busy. The barrier between dimensions is in flux, she’s currently keeping the Dark Dimension from leaking into this one.”

Stephen pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mordo’s with her, I take it?”

“Naturally.”

“Great. Is _anyone_ going to do something about Germany or the sea monster that probably came from another dimension, then?”

“Why? They seem to have things under control, and I have the library to guard.” Wong replied, and Stephen gave him a flat look as he gestured to his phone with its multiple notifications from various news websites.

“I don’t know what your definition of ‘under control’ is, but mine definitely involves stuff not being on fire. These guys don’t even have their shit together, I mean, look, that’s _clearly_ a magical relic—”

“Are you volunteering to help, then?”

Stephen paused, seconds from saying ‘no’ before his phone buzzed yet again.

“…you know what? Sure, why the hell not. Someone has to _do_ something about this mess, might as well be me.”

* * *

Hela had not meant to interfere in the locals’ affairs. Had meant only to accompany Jörmungandr in observing what was going on with Loki, and gathering information before acting accordingly.

Or, well, that had been the plan, anyway.

Fenrir’s reappearance had stolen her breath away, even more than seeing Loki’s haggard face, but there hadn’t been much opportunity to go after them when matters quickly went beyond what the locals could handle because the Svartálfar were not to be trifled with.

Not in matters of combat, at least; not when they had a goal in sight.

So even though she could practically _hear_ Jör gritting his teeth to avoid giving away their position, Hela stalked out of the shadows and took control of the situation because she hadn't been able to help him before, but now was another thing entirely.

Demanded the attention of all who beheld her as was her right as Queen, and readied herself for battle.

She didn’t deign to sneer at the Svartálfar who dared invade her new home. Didn’t bother to react to the startled screams of the locals when they finally noticed her emerge from the shadows, didn’t even react to the way their so-called elite fighting force had immediately turned their weapons to face her.

None of this was worth her time, not when Fenrir roamed free.

But she liked this quaint realm, liked the food and scent of flowers, liked the music— and so she could not let this threat go unchallenged.

“Lady Death,” one of the Svartálfar hissed, and she _smiled,_ though not in joy.

Ah. It seemed the purple ruffian’s name for her had spread. Right there and then, she swore she’d break his jaw if she ever saw him again. At minimum. 

By now, all the Svartálfar had completely forgotten about the locals, focusing on the greatest threat in the area. As if they stood a chance against someone like her.

“We seek the Aether,” their leader repeated, “we do not have a quarrel against you, only Asgard and those who stand in our way.”

“I care not for your paltry concerns.” Hela replied, “If you wish to face Asgard, then by all means do so. But begone from this realm, or face my wrath.”

In reply, they swarmed her with a battle cry that had not been heard since Bor had reigned over Asgard.

A cry that had terrorized the Nine Realms, for the wielders of the primordial darkness were at hand and would slaughter whoever stood in their way.

How… _pathetic._

She was inevitable, was the goddess of Death and conqueror of Helheim, had fought against far greater opponents for far, far longer.

The battle didn’t last more than a handful of minutes— and only because she was conscientious of the few locals who hadn’t been able to flee. Most of her enemies were stubborn to the end, though a few heeded her words and fled to a different realm as they saw their fellows perish around them. She didn’t strike them down when they did so; she was not one to break her word.

Once the threat was gone, Hela banished her swords with a flick of the wrist, turned around, and walked away.

“Hey, wait a minute—“ the local in shining red armor said as he tried to approach her, but at that moment, a portal with Jör’s signature opened up before her and she took the exit as gracefully as she could.

She didn’t have time to talk with passerby: her brothers were waiting.

* * *

Thor Odinson arrived on Midgard in a blaze of thunder and lightning.

He slowly straightened up from his crouch with a frown that only deepened as he noticed the extent of the Convergence’s reach, smelled the brimstone of Muspelheim even though he was surrounded by nothing but forest. That was strange— the worlds were not supposed to be bleeding together to this extent, not yet. Certainly, Asgard was not experiencing this; but then, his home had been under siege since the day Loki released all the demons from Helheim, and he had not had much time to do anything other than defend Asgard with his shield-brothers.

His father and Heimdall had both warned him of the strange effects the Convergence had, but even so, this was…unexpected.

But he could not afford to overly concern himself of the difference between realms; he had far, _far_ more pressing matters at hand. The Warriors Three had promised him they could afford to hold the line without him, but he could not help but worry. Not to mention the Allfather’s request…while he had ordered him to place the Tesseract as a priority, Thor had a brother to recover and several burning questions only he could answer.

[ ~~ _“I regret nothing,” and Loki had looked the happiest he’d ever seen him in years as he fell, why, why—_~~ **_not. Now_** _._ ]

There was nothing for it. Thor took a deep breath, and let it out. He shoved down his confusion and grief and the exhaustion that came with fighting at the frontlines without rest in favor of focusing on the matter at hand, and set off.

* * *

On the Helicarrier, Tony sighed as they reviewed the footage once more.

Just like before, they watched as Loki was taken by the fuck-off huge wolf for the fraction of a minute that he showed up on camera. Watched the goth chick show up out of nowhere, for the sole purpose of kicking the ass of hostile aliens before _also_ vanishing into the night.

“You know, I don’t think something’s going to magically show up this time around, guys.”

“Do you have any better ideas, Stark?” Director Fury ground out as he rubbed his temples, and Tony shrugged.

“Hey, I was _there_ and I still feel like I missed something, but it’s not like I can turn back time and zoom in on what you want. Kinda focused on, y’know, evacing civilians and whatnot.”

“Loki’s Scepter is missing.” Agent said quietly, and Tony turned his head sharply with a frown.

“What do you mean? Dude _dropped_ it, you can see his freakout and everything.”

“Nevertheless, it wasn’t on scene when we cleared the area.”

“Then, what, it got nabbed during the fight? _When?"_

“That’s the question, isn’t it.” Director Fury said over steepled fingers. “Who could’ve gotten in the middle of a bloodbath between two foreign powers on our turf without our notice, and how. Hill, what do our analysts say?”

“Sorry, Director, we have another situation.” Deputy Director Hill said, looking harried as she tapped away at her tablet, “Dr. Foster says readings have hit critical point, and…that’s strange.”

“What is it?”

“We’re having sightings reported around the world. Some sort of sea creature, apparently, though there's been some of the wolf too—” She replied, before her eyes widened and she hurriedly scrolled through her latest message.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Whatever Hill read was bad enough to make her lean back for a moment, taking a deep breath and letting it out with a low hiss. “Because the sea creature's got similar energy readings as the spike in Stuttgart when this ‘Lady Death’ left. Speaking of which, best our people could pull up on short notice was Norse mythology. Considering Thor and Loki are both gods…”

“You’re saying we’ve got another one?”

“It gets worse.”

_“How?”_

Deputy Director Hill looked tired, all of a sudden. “A giant wolf, a sea monster, and now this ‘Lady Death’? Director— the myths have them as Loki’s children. Not only that, but if this sea monster thing is true…I’m not sure how accurate it is, but the myths have it as being one of the signs of the apocalypse."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, a surprise Stephen Strange showed up. No, I'm not sure how it happened either, he was nowhere in my outline when I first started this. If it helps any, picture his origin story happening a bit earlier, without the Ancient One dying because of [insert butterfly effect-related reason here]. 
> 
> Aka yes, this just went from 'the AU where Odin's mistakes bite him several centuries later' to 'let's throw MCU canon in a blender and see what happens, oh and there's some consequences along the way'. Still trying to keep the plot vaguely on track, but, well, let's see how it goes.


	7. The World Serpent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”  
> ― Sun Tzu, _The Art of War_
> 
> "Does _anyone_ know what the hell's going on?"— Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Chapter-specific warnings:** the usual [ _canon-typical violence and mental health issues, a mishmash of MCU canon due to the butterfly effect, etc. _] Some delving into the changes caused by said butterfly effect, too, and Loki is just not having a good day today, is he?__
> 
> _  
> _Yet another cliffhanger ending.__  
> 

It took every scrap of Jörmungandr’s composure to keep control of his magic, when his saw his missing brother.

Missing _brothers,_ and his breath had caught when he’d seen the gigantic wolf who could have only been Fenrir because it’d been over half a lifetime ago but he would recognize his magical signature anywhere and if he and Hela hadn’t already made plans, Jörmungandr knew they would’ve both hared off to chase after them.

But they had _plans,_ had to do their best to keep control of the situation if they wanted to have a snowball’s chance in Muspelheim of storming Asgard with what few resources they had at hand.

So he gritted his teeth, and forced himself to think as the tactician Hela was counting on, and not the desperate little brother who wanted nothing more than to have his family back together again.

They couldn’t afford any weaknesses, not now.

They were flying blind, were on the back foot and they couldn’t afford to have any more variables than they were already dealing with at the moment, what with the mystery behind Loki’s state. Even if Jörmungandr was burning with curiosity because there was clearly a story behind just how Fenrir had gotten his hands on the Reality Stone but he couldn’t afford to take his focus off the hastily-laid wards he’d set up the moment the Dark Elves made their appearance.

…they really couldn’t get a break, could they?

Not that it stopped him from taking advantage of his siblings’ unintentional distraction to snatch up the scepter Loki had dropped, but still.

Look, in his defense, anyone who put _that_ look on Hela’s face was begging for a closed-casket funeral on bended knee— she clearly had things well in hand on that regard, after all. Even if the locals’ terrified screams would have made him think otherwise, but then, they didn’t know his sister.

So he cast one of the few illusions he’d mastered, picked up the scepter, and frowned for a moment as he focused on honing in on the resonance necessary for tracking down his brothers.

Not ten seconds in, however, his eyes widened and he nearly fumbled with the third Infinity Stone he’d had the misfortune of stumbling across because _who dared strike at his family?!_

He and Hela had known something was wrong with Loki not five minutes after sensing his presence on Midgard, but this was…

Someone had gotten their hands on his brother, and hurt him so much that his magical signature had been warped and Jörmungandr’s experience with malicious artifacts meant he knew _exactly_ what it took to affect beings like them. Knew the amount of stress it took, the amount of power, and he bit back a sob because they’d scoured the Nine Realms searching for their missing brethren, and how, how had they missed this?

His grief, however, was quickly subsumed by _rage._

The glacial rage he’d felt ever since being forced to flee from the place he’d once called home, frigid anger borne of remaining silent in the face of a lifetime of injustices and only now having the power to stand up and fight back— all of it rose to the fore as the realization struck him.

Someone was trying to use his family as pawns, and _this would not stand._

[ _Not now. Not again,_ ** _never again._** ]

Jörmungandr valiantly resisted the urge to punch something, instead gripping the accursed scepter until it creaked and the Infinity Stone it contained flickered erratically.

Part of him was tempted to break it, to rip it out without care as to what might happen because whoever was controlling it clearly has his brother in thrall—

But the analytical part of him was already methodically sorting through all the signatures and imprints to figure out how to find the progenitor, working how to fit this latest development into their plans. Knew now was the time for damage control: for his siblings were more than capable of… _expressing_ their grievances without his help, and _someone_ had to be the mastermind of their endeavor if they wanted it to be as satisfying as it could be.

They couldn’t track down the originator of the influence on the Mind Stone as it was, not as long as there was a tangled snarl of signatures around it. But he could do something about it, even if it’d set their plans back by a few hours.

For all of him itched and ached and _yearned_ to run to his brother, to keep his promise, Jörmungandr also knew he had to be patient for just a bit longer if they were to help the one who’d saved them all.

So he gritted his teeth, and set to work to get Hela on board with this latest change in their plans.

* * *

“Does _anyone_ know what the hell’s going on?” Director Fury demanded, piercing the silence that had somehow stolen over the bridge and causing Steve Rogers to jolt the table in surprise.

Still, though: he hadn’t even been out of the ice for a _week_ and here he was on a flying aircraft carrier, dealing with aliens and magic and, apparently, an honest-to-goodness **_apocalypse_.** He was adaptable, but even he had his limits and this was running up against ones he hadn’t even known he’d _had._

Even as he recovered from his shock, however, Deputy Director Hill lifted one hand to her headset before she spoke again. “We’ve got eyes on Thor, ETA five minutes.”

“ _Another_ one?” Tony Stark muttered with a groan, and he sympathized.

Loki and the wolf had been bad enough, everything else that came afterwards was just…too much. Stark’s footage of the encounter and the staggering body count caused by this ‘Lady Death’ were just about the only proof the past hour hadn’t been a fever dream, and the briefings afterwards had been spectacularly unhelpful. Especially since he was far more familiar with Greek mythology than Norse, and _apparently_ there was a debate about what exactly Ragnarok was, complete with arguments about linguistics that might have been funny under circumstances not involving the potential end of the world.

“Hopefully we’ll at least be able to get a few answers.” Agent Coulson mused, and Steve fervently agreed.

In the briefing Steve had been provided about SHIELD’s candidates for their ‘Avengers initiative’, Thor Odinson of Asgard had seemed impressive: though there hadn’t been much footage to include, all accounts had him as a good man. He’d seemed noble with his intentions, if slightly archaic at times— had looked every inch the prince he apparently was, when facing down something that looked shockingly like Stark’s armor.

As such, Steve would be the first to admit he was surprised by the man that appeared before them with a thunderous crash.

For one, he looked _exhausted_ — the type of weariness he’d seen with the Howling Commandoes or any of his other fellow soldiers on the front lines, where the fighting stretched on with no end in sight. Grim determination, with an edge of darkness that _screamed,_ ‘I will fight with everything I have to defend what I believe in, no matter what it takes, no matter the odds’.

It wasn’t the look he’d expected of royalty, alien or no. Not by a long shot.

Not to mention everything else: the scars that the footage hadn’t recorded, the tattered cloak and clearly well-worn armor, the way his hammer sparked even as Thor constantly readjusted his grip without once glancing at it and in that moment, Steve _knew_ they were dealing with something far above any of their pay grades.

Sure enough, his suspicions were right: even as Thor gave them all a smile that didn’t quite banish the shadows from his eyes, and told them of the fantastical-sounding war being fought in the realm of the gods and his search for his brother and the Tesseract, he proved to be spectacularly unhelpful with being able to explain why Earth had somehow become a pit stop for extraterrestrials.

Or, rather, he’d been very helpful when it came to explaining why there were so many aliens popping up— but even he had frowned in confusion as they reviewed the footage once more in hopes of answers.

Then Thor blanched before he leaned forward and tensed, even as the lights around them buzzed and the room started to smell faintly of ozone.

“When was this recording made?” He asked, not taking his eyes off the screen, and Steve watched with no small amount of fascination as his hands sparked even as Deputy Director Hill replied.

“Less than three hours ago.”

“That looks like— but it can’t be, he went missing centuries ago and I thought the Svalthar were all _gone_ —“

“Do you know who they are, then?” Director Fury asked, voice calm but eyes sharp while people started typing frantically around them.

“I…think so. Loki was the one who taught Fenrir how to shapeshift, and if that’s him then she must be—“ Thor cut himself off, before giving a terrifying scowl. “The rogue watchkeeper of Niflheim. Tyr’s former apprentice, Hela.”

Steve got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as name after name matched up. If the looks on the faces of the people around him were anything to go by, he wasn’t alone.

“So,” Agent Coulson said with admirable composure, “our guess was right, then. Is Ragnarok upon us?”

Just like that, the lights stopped buzzing, and Thor’s scowl became a puzzled look as he finally turned from the now-blank screen to face them, tension in his frame melting away as he clearly remembered he was among allies rather than…wherever he’d clearly thought he’d been.

“What is Ragnarok?”

* * *

It had taken nearly five minutes of cajoling for Jörmungandr to get Hela to cooperate with this latest change in plans. She’d been all for chasing after Loki, consequences be damned, but they needed to pare down their enemy’s reach if they wanted a chance to strike at the heart of the problem.

So they did: while Hela prepared for the upcoming battle, Jörmungandr portaled around the world tracking down the annoyingly fine threads of influence left by those touched by the Mind Stone, and painstakingly severed each and every one before moving onto the next. Loki’s was the main goal, obviously, but there had been no small number of Midgardians he’d apparently gotten in thrall to his leader and the **_last_** thing they needed was for another unexpected element to throw _yet another_ wrench into the works.

And, because Jörmungandr was thoughtful like that, he even took the time to bring them back to their people with a hastily-scribbled apology note. Hopefully this ‘SHIELD’ would appreciate it, even if he did not envy their confusion as to where their previously-missing agents and researchers were coming from. Or the mystery of just where the Tesseract had ended up, because he’d stashed _that_ particular Infinity Stone in one of his specially-warded vaults and handed Hela the key.

Sure, it favored the Midgardians— but he didn’t recognize the other magical signature who had used it in the past day, and Norns help them all if yet another player entered this mess.

He’d give it back to the locals once this mess was over. Probably.

* * *

“Sir, we’ve got eyes on the wolf.” Deputy Director Hill reported, and only an ungodly amount of self-discipline kept Steve Rogers from groaning as he straightened up from his corner of the table. He had the distinct feeling that it was the serum that kept his back from popping as he did so, and what was probably keeping the budding headache at bay even after having spent the past few hours poring over ancient texts with other members of Fury’s initiative.

Geez, he almost missed the ice right now.

Apart from the unmitigated disaster that had been the past day, of having to catch Thor up on the differences between his people’s history and their own myths, and the chaos that came with the spontaneously-appearing disoriented SHIELD agents that kept popping up in random locations around the world, this was just…great.

“Here, you look like you need it.” Tony Stark carefully slid over a paper cup of something that smelled far too good to have come from the Helicarrier’s mess hall, somehow managing to avoid getting any spilled on the mess of paperwork before them. “And here I was hoping our aliens would be less Shakespeare and more Star Trek.”

At his confused look, the man frowned for a moment before he lit up again, tapping at his tablet and turning it around to show Steve a few short clips of what seemed to be a television show, answering most of his unspoken questions on the matter in one fell swoop.

“I was not ready for this.” He didn’t mean to sound plaintive, he really didn’t. It just slipped out.

At that, Tony sagged, and gave him a smile that didn’t quite hide the exhaustion on his face. “Oh, Cap, welcome to my world. Not to mention— I’m a scientist, magic bullshit need not apply.”

Despite himself, Steve couldn’t help but tense when he remembered Deputy Director Hill and Agent Romanov were both in the room— and damn, he was still getting used to this strange time when ladies apparently didn’t care about cursing like they did in his day.

Ugh. He scrubbed a hand down his face, and bit back a groan when it caused a minor avalanche that nearly knocked Tony’s tablet out of his hands and sent a booklet on Old Norse flying off the table.

“Geez, you’re _really_ not feeling it, are you?” Tony asked with a concerned look, and Steve didn’t waste another second before snatching up the coffee with a muttered thanks. Sure, the caffeine didn’t actually affect him, not with the serum, but it was much better than what he’d had for the past day. Gave him something concrete to focus on, a distraction from the hooroosh he was struggling to be able to help with.

Once he was done, he turned back to face Tony. “You say we’ve got a wolf to track down now?”

“Looks like.” He gave him a knowing look. “And Prince Charming’s coming with, this time.”

That was something. He wasn’t sure what, but it was something.

* * *

Fenrir had been clinging to the fraying threads of his patience, trying to help his brother while evading everyone on their tail and just generally keeping on top of the situation.

…it was not an easy endeavor, to say the least.

He was more of a fighter than a planner, was helpless against whatever entity had Loki in its thrall and trying to stay two steps ahead of the Svartálfar and three steps ahead of the locals of whichever realm he found himself in. He was doing his best, but he couldn’t help but feel like a miserable failure every time he sidestepped yet another ambush by the skin of his teeth, by the pitiful flickers of illusions he’d managed to remember after spending over half a lifetime chained in a godforsaken cave and feeling his anger grow every time he heard his brother’s choked-back hiss because an injury’d been jostled with every hairpin turn he made but he couldn’t help it.

He clearly couldn’t trust Loki’s safety to anyone else, not if this was the state he’d been in when Fenrir found him; but by the same token, he couldn’t fight back, not when his brother was in such a state. He could only flee, and try and track the _fool_ who _dared_ hurt his family—

And then Thor showed up in a flash of lightning, hammer at the ready, and _that was_ ** _it._**

Fenrir’s snarl reverberated throughout the forest, almost drowning out the crash of thunder.

Part of him knew he should be concerned, facing off against a seasoned Asgardian god— but he had dealt with far, far worse.

He had been chained because Odin had feared his strength as a child; he had fought off attacker after attacker who sought the Aether. He had managed to break his bindings and escape with a cornerstone of the universe, and kept it from overwhelming him even as he faced insurmountable odds with nothing more than sheer willpower.

Loki’s oaf of a brother?

**_Ha._ **

Fenrir felt the Aether roil deep in his chest as he roared his challenge to the world, and almost didn’t notice when Loki carefully slid off his back.

He only had eyes for his enemy— for anyone who stood between him and his family, for anyone who sought them harm, sought to drag them back to those who had harmed them and Fenrir had _raged_ in his cavern after Loki had brought word of what had happened after his imprisonment because he hadn’t been able to protect them then but now, _now_ he could do something about it.

So without further ado, Fenrir struck.

* * *

Tony Stark stared at the spectacle going on before them, and gave a low whistle.

“Holy shit.”

Tellingly, Cap didn’t say a thing— even though it came through loud and clear on the comms.

Then again, it wasn’t like he could say much, when he was doing his best to avoid getting blown away by gale-force winds, and Tony was fairly certain neither of them had expected this when they’d gotten that lead of a possible sighting in the Carpathian Mountains.

Because the moment the fuck-off huge red wolf had seen Thor?

What they were seeing wasn’t a fight. It was a full-blown, knock-down-drag-out clash of titans and Tony did _not_ envy whoever was stuck cleaning it up. As it was, Iron Man and Captain America were slated for retrieval only, but honestly? He wasn’t keen on entering the fray anytime soon.

Tony had suspended his disbelief over Thor being a god earlier, but…he could really see where that was coming from, right now. Point Break had seemed pretty chill back at the Helicarrier, but the dude did _not_ fuck around when it came to fighting and boy, was Tony glad he was on their side.

The clearing they was fighting in hadn’t existed five minutes ago, and the only reason there wasn’t a fire from the lightning strikes was courtesy of the rain from the _surprise localized supercell_ pelting everyone in the vicinity with ice water and hail. 

The wolf— Fenrir, apparently, right— gave as good as he got, though. Huge teeth and a vicious snarl that made his hair stand on end even from this distance, and had already backhanded Thor through at least three trees and a cliff face with no sign of stopping.

…even when the Sva-whatever guys showed up again, and Tony had never thought the term ‘beast mode’ could be so literal.

It was terrifying. And, in a bizarre way, kind of impressive— he didn’t consider himself a dog person, but part of Tony couldn’t help but respect the juggernaut that was able to not only go toe-to-toe with an alien god capable of summoning lighting, but also carve a swathe through the very creepy guys who, according to Thor, were very bad news.

Really, if he hadn’t kidnapped the guy they were supposed to be bringing in, Tony would’ve probably been cheering him on.

Another gust swept through, and Tony surged forward to steady Cap as his grip on his shield nearly dragged him away from their vantage point.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to get in close enough to get to Loki, if they keep this up.” He said, and Cap gave a grim nod.

“Iron Man, you can—“ Someone over the comms started to protest, and Tony snorted.

“Storm’s too much for me to use anything ranged, and like _hell_ I’m getting within grabbing distance of either of them, armor or no. Are you or are you not seeing this, guys?”

Yet another gust, and the boulder Cap had been using for cover finally gave way. Tony didn’t hesitate to sweep him up and immediately took to the air— at least there they wouldn’t have to worry about debris hurtling at them at upwards of fifty miles per hour. As much, anyway.

“I’m calling it.” Cap finally said, still not looking away from the battle before them. “We can’t get in, there’s no opening and far too much risk for friendly fire, last thing we need is Thor getting distracted.”

As if in response, however, a golden portal opened up right by the tiny shadow Fenrir had been defending the entire time, and it was only thanks to his armor’s top-of-the-line cameras that Tony picked up on the figure that—

“ _Are you fucking kidding me.”_ Tony snapped, and the only reason he didn’t reach up to rub at his temples was the knowledge that his grip was the only thing keeping Cap from a very long fall. “Guys, we lost eyes on Loki. Someone else took him. _Again._ ”

From there, it was common sense to head back to the Helicarrier. Wasn’t like there was much else of a point for them to stick around, anyway. He could pinpoint the exact moment Fenrir noticed, and the reason why, because he let out such a mournful howl that Tony couldn’t help but feel a brief pang of sympathy.

…then the colossal wolf glowed an even brighter red, and vanished from all sensors and right, _this_ is why Tony hated magic.

Ugh.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, however, Fury wanted them in for another debrief the moment they got back, which…

Tony had spent _far_ too much time in that conference room. Really, he was a scientist, if they wanted an expert in Medieval Norse Studies then SHIELD damn well should’ve just called one in from the get-go rather than having them all pore through over seventy years’ worth of literature on the matter.

Hell, even _Cap_ hadn’t been able to hide a wince at the prospect of going back there, and the man was practically the human equivalent of a golden retriever.

So Tony didn’t hesitate to start his token protest as they walked in, only to freeze in his tracks.

Because he’d spent who knew how many hours in this space, had designed it— he knew when something was wrong.

And that shadow in the corner? It had never been there before.

“Who the hell are you.” He asked immediately, and regretted leaving his armor in the maintenance bay because he sure as hell didn’t recognize the man who stepped forward to give them all a thin-lipped smile.

Look, the guy was clearly not SHIELD, all right?

It wasn’t that he looked like a younger version of Mr. Miyagi, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair in what was _definitely_ not a regulation haircut. Wasn’t that Tony hadn’t seen him around the Helicarrier in all this time, even though they were hilariously understaffed for the situation at hand. What made the guy stick out like a sore thumb wasn’t even the honest-to-goodness wizard robes, even.

It was what he was holding.

“Is that Loki’s scepter?” Tony demanded, blood running cold. Behind him, he could almost feel Cap’s tension, and the buzz of the lights above them told him Thor had recognized it too.

The man looked down at it, then back at them. He was unnervingly calm, considering the gun Tony hadn’t even _seen_ Natasha pull out. “Not anymore it’s not, I believe the term your people have is…finders keepers, was it? I mean, obviously I couldn’t do that with his minions, but this was too shiny. I couldn’t resist.”

_What._

“Oh, come, sit down.” The man waved them in, his smile widening. “My name is Jörmungandr, and I do believe I have some answers to your questions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw all the plotlines are a jumbled mess because everyone's running roughshod over everyone else's plans. Let the games ~~begin~~ continue! And maybe hopefully some communication might happen! 
> 
> ...also, tfw real life ups the ante. Apologies for the delays, but a lot of Stuff Went Down recently and it threw me off my groove and that this fic's plot keeps trying to run away from me doesn't help.

**Author's Note:**

> I try to tag what I think applies, and warn for the same, but if I miss something _please let me know._
> 
> ~~This fic isn't slated to have more than 5 chapters at most.~~ Someday, I _will_ write a fic with an accurate chapter estimate. Clearly, today is not that day.


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